


Mile High Club

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [81]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Post-Reichenbach, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John never lets Mycroft take him face-to-face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mile High Club

*****POST-REICHENBACH ANGST, UST, JOHNCROFT*****

“Well?”

John starts. He flushes, a sudden pang of shame, because he wasn’t paying attention and Mycroft is watching him. Mycroft is always watching him these days.

“Yeah,” John says, and forces a smile. “It’s great.”

Mycroft just looks at him.

“Really,” John says again and tries hard to mean it, but there’s a hollow place where the words are supposed to go, the syllables stripped of meaning. He wonders if this is ever supposed to go away.

A chilled hand finds his, long fingers threading between his own and if John closes his eyes, if he _pretends..._

“John?”

He opens them. Mycroft is watching him and there is such concern on his face that the guilt is almost overwhelming.

“Yeah, sorry,” John says. “Just...not really here today.”

Mycroft stares at him a moment longer then smiles. Nods. But the concern is still there. The concern is _always_ there.

“We don’t have to do this,” Mycroft says softly and John tries to ignore the empty pit in his stomach that tells him Mycroft deserves better than this. That Mycroft deserves better than _him,_ but part of him is still getting used to this side of Sherlock’s brother, and the other part of him...the other part of him can’t help but think how _similar_ the two men sound, how similar they _feel,_ when John is on his hands and knees and all there is is the feeling of being filled and all he can hear is the sound of that voice groaning its release into the ridge of his spine. He can close his eyes and imagine that the lean fingers sprawled over his chest, his hips, belong to someone else.

“Yeah,” John says, and tries to smile again. “We do.”

And Mycroft just nods and John tries not to see the hurt in them. “I was hoping this would distract you,” he gestures to the private plane banked on the tarmac. “Something _fun.”_ His voice is forcibly cheerful and the way he says ‘fun’ is the same way Sherlock says—used to say—‘love’ whenever John had tried to bring it up, something foreign and little bit repulsive, but _trying_ because he knew it was important to John.

And once again John wonders what's wrong with him, if he's mad, if this thing with Mycroft is just his way of getting back at the younger brother for all those months, _years_ of pining. Because when he looks at Mycroft he sees the same expression on his face as he had seen on his own, standing in the mirror after every time Sherlock had said 'I'm not like that, John.' And he'd tried so hard not to care. Just as he was trying now, trying so hard to ignore the quiet desperation on Mycroft’s face, so similar to his own.

“Yeah, fun,” John says, but ‘fun’ with Sherlock was shagging in the too-small loo of an economy class flight and trying to stay quiet, hoping that they’d finish before the meal was over and the lines would start. ‘Fun’ wasn’t a private luxury jet.

“Our own private Mile High Club,” Mycroft says and he chuckles flatly and John chuckles too because he knows how hard Mycroft is trying and he forces himself to pay attention because Mycroft _does_ deserve better than this and the very least John can do for him is give him some part of his attention along with a willing hole.

“This is great,” he says and even to his own ears he sounds genuine. “Thank you, Mycroft,” and there is such relief on Mycroft’s face and the hand in his squeezes. 

And John lets himself be led, lets himself be taken, where miles high, on his hands and knees, he will close his eyes and think of someone else.


End file.
